A War Over Who Knows What
by X Jackson
Summary: It's 1921, and to most people it feels like the Great War just ended. But a certain Wang Yao and another certain Lovino Vargas have ideas of their own, which might end up getting more than one person killed. Rated T for everyone's foul mouths, including those of the authors. A collaboration with HopelesslyEntangled
1. Job Interview

The room was dark, and the scents of incense and smoke made Arthur's head spin. How long would he have to wait for this Yao person? Usually he wouldn't care, just as long as he got the money, but this was driving him crazy.

"Master Yao is ready to see you now," said a soft voice from behind one of the heavy curtains at the back of the room. A shadowy figure, smaller than Arthur, appeared in the back of the room and came towards Arthur.

"You wish to be in my service, aru?" said the figure. The accent was Chinese, but Arthur couldn't tell if the person was male or female, even with a dim outline in the low light. They wore bright red robes, hemmed in a sort of gold silk.

Despite the figure being smaller than him, Arthur still was extremely intimidated. "Yes," he said. "If you pay good money, that is."

Upon hearing his accent, the figure snorted. They muttered something that sounded like a cross between "limey" and "opium war." _Don't blame me for the faults of my country,_ Arthur thought.

"Well," said the figure. "I suppose I have a job for you, ahen."

"I suppose I could take it," said Arthur, mocking the figure's mysterious manner a bit. "Depending on what it is."


	2. Oblivious

Lovino Vargas was not happy. As per usual. But this time he actually had a reason. He stood in his fifth-story, rather overdone, ridiculously dramatic office in front of a small, mismatched group of people, glowering.

That is, glowering more than usual. He looked about ready to murder the entire room. "Does anyone know," he began, "Who the hell has been stealing information from our damn base for the last _three fucking hours _without _anyone_ noticing?" The answers he got were not promising.

"Um...¿Que?" and a hand going through hair.

"Ve? Someone has?" and an innocent blink.

"Perhaps it is someone from within? Could I help..._discipline_ this person?" A swish of wine and a slightly evil-sounding chuckle.

"What the hell're you talking about? That's seriously unawesome." The click of a gun.

"No shit it's not 'awesome!' A fucking _stealth agent_ is somewhere here and NO ONE FUCKING NOTICED. Whoever the hell it is took some of the most fucking protected shit in the entire building!"

Nobody noticed the silent figure stalking about the corners of the room. This, for Lovino Vargas, was not good. The stealth agent took a moment to realize the irony of the fact that he had entered the room while they were discussing him and what he had been doing for several hours. He put his mind back on track - focusing on the situation at hand. He was supposed to listen in, maybe grab some stuff to bring back to Al.

He was a bit nervous about bringing anything back to Al. He had been in an odd mood - upset about being "taken out of something?"

"I don't DAMN CARE if nobody noticed. If you see someone, fucking shoot them!"

The mysterious stealth agent edged around to the back of the room and slipped through a door.

"So" said a voice. It was smooth and carefree(and French) - and sounded absolutely perfect. It was obvious that it had been practiced. "We see this supposed stealth agent, and then we shoot them. Even if it turns out to be, let's say, someone we wouldn't normally shoot. I am correct, oui?"

Lovino Vargas was shaking with rage - a thing not at all unusual for him. "You're implying," he said, with a certain forced calm, "that the stealth agent may be one of us?"

The man who had asked the question, a blond with long hair and blue eyes, nodded.

After a few moments' silent fuming, Lovino Vargas turned around. "If it is one of us, I will fucking murder you _all_." Everyone in the room cringed.

Coming back through the door in the back of the room was the stealth agent. In his hands there were a few papers and a small bag. He glanced over the screaming Italian's shoulder, reading the paper in front of him on the table, before continuing to pace around the room.

"Guten tag," said a voice, making the agent jump. The voice was that of an albino with a gun. Aforementioned albino was staring at him with his eyebrows raised and an only slightly really creepy grin.

The stealth agent gave a pleasant albeit startled smile and a hasty nod, promptly jumping out the nearby open window.

Matthew Williams landed halfway in a convertible with the top down, his glasses nearly falling off and the papers in his hand almost dropping. He winced and climbed fully into the car, momentarily glaring at the driver.

"You could've pulled closer," he snapped. The driver shrugged and floored the gas pedal.

Off drove Alfred F. Jones with the best stealth agent of the twentieth century, backed by the dramatic sound of screaming in Italian and a loud, abrasive laugh that somehow managed a German accent.


	3. Moonlit Windows

Two men, perhaps in their mid-twenties, looked over an array of papers. Most noticeable of all of them was a sheet covered with the words, "kill Francis Bonnefoy," written in what looked like blood, over and over.

The taller of the two, who wore glasses, stared at this.

"Impressive."

The shorter of the two, who also wore glasses, stared at a similar piece of paper, also covered in a similar phrase - the name Francis Bonnefoy replaced by "Ludwig Beilschmidt."

Another piece of paper seemed to remain unnoticed. It appeared to be plans of some sort. There was again a name, but other words went along with it besides "kill."

_Get it before Yao._

That is all the paper read.

After getting over the apparent wishes of death to this Francis Bonnefoy and Ludwig Beilschmidt, they noticed this page.

"Get it?" repeated the taller of them, Alfred F. Jones. "Get what?"

"Idiot," muttered the pro stealth agent Matthew Williams. He knew exactly what, if only because he knew what the other side - that is, Yao and his Asian cohorts - were after. "This is 1921. Don't you know anything about prohibition laws?"

Alfred shrugged. "If I do, does it matter?"

"Yes. It does, in fact."

"Why?"

"Any form of alcohol sells for a lot of money. Yao and his Asian cohorts already have their hands on some. Vargas and Co. want it so they can sell it. You see now?" Matthew barely noticed that he was quoting thoughts from a minute ago.

Jones shrugged again. "Why's this our problem?"

"Who knows. Some mystery guy gave me five grand and a hat and told me to do it."

"Whatever. I'm going to bed." Alfred deliberately left Matthew in a dark room with no light but the moon through the window. Matthew sighed, and continued looking through the papers.

* * *

"I like sleeping," said the glassy-eyed Italian, looking up at the nearly full moon. His older brother hit him on the head, and the Spainiard in the backgound passed out from blood loss.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Yes. I know. The end is total crack, and, in HopelesslyEntangled's words, "All background needed for the Italy bros." Who cares; it's fun. I know this is the first author's note of the story - I might go back and one to the previous chapters. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story, and the previous parts.**


	4. Piano Wire

"And that can probably get you into their–Williams, will you _please_ stop _doing_ that?" Ludwig groaned, hitting his forehead with the base of his palm.

"Doing what?" said man asked, looking up from the paper he had been writing notes on before receding from view and appearing again.

"That!"

"What?"

"Going in and out of existence or whatever it is you do! It's very disconcerting." the German said, a nervous twitch he thought he had gotten rid of reappearing.

"I can't help it! It's all I can do to be visible half the time!"

"Mein Gott," the tall blond groaned. "This is almost worse than Feliciano."

"You adore Feliciano," Alfred pointed out.

"Shut up." the group of three was situated on Ludwig's couch, if only because Yao was having severe mood swings and wailing something about not being a good brother. They had gotten away from base as quickly as possible after he started repeatedly slamming on his desk with a wok.

Their conversation went on in this manner for some time, no one really getting any work done - hey, Alfred was in the room, he does that - until Matthew jolted backwards at the sight of something in the next room and went completely invisible, even to Al.

"What the hell, Matt?" the American idiot cried, as he was not used to this behavior.

There was no reply. The only indication he was there was a slight indent in the couch.

"Matt?"

More silence.

An instant later someone wandered into the room, holding a bottle of German beer in one hand and piano wire wrapped around the other.

"Ludwig, der zur Hölle ist das und warum war es nur eine Flasche Bier in den Kühlschrank?"

"Geh weg, Bruder."

"Nicht genial. Im Ernst."

"Gehen sie weg."

"Nein. Hey, you in the middle who is apparently trying to become one with the couch, don't I know you?"

Alfred did a double take. "You can _see_ him?"

"Um, yes. He's on my couch. Why wouldn't I be able to?"

Ludwig stared, Alfred choked, and Matthew turned red.

"It's my couch," said Ludwig, at the same moment as Alfred helpfully pointed out that even so, not even he could see him at the moment and that was really weird.

"Um," said Matthew, no longer one with the couch, which happened to be allied with a certain Ivan Braginsky, "I honestly don't know why people don't notice me." _It might have had something to do with living in Alfred's shadow my entire life,_ he thought. Then he realized quite how ridiculous the situation he was in was, and thought something more along the lines of, _Why the hell does he have piano wire wrapped around his hand?_

"But you take advantage of it."  
"What do you mean?"

"I watched you jump out a window after you stole a bunch of information. You're a stealth agent, right?"

"...Dammit."

"Well, not like I particularly care. My job isn't doing everything Lovino wants, it's just shooting people," he made a gun hand sign with the piano-wire-hand and pretended to fire it at some invisible entity in the kitchen before continuing, "and somehow, I feel as though it wouldn't be in my favor to kill you; my brother the tank would kill me in return."

"I see."

"Not a tank." Ludwig rolled his eyes.

Then there was an uncomfortable silence that Alfred felt the urge to end. "Um...Hey Ludwig, do you have any food? I'm hungry."

Matthew smacked him. "You're always hungry."

"So I am."

"Whatever. Ludwig, you and Al can discuss the plan, I'll make food."

"You will?" Ludwig seemed surprised by this. "What are you making?"

"Ambrosia. You will eat what I make and you will like it." Then the Canadian stealth agent gave him such a look the only option was to nod and go along with it. Matthew stood and walked (stalked) to the kitchen. Moments later clattering and various other stereotypical kitchen sounds resounded through the house.

More moments later, Gilbert followed him into the kitchen.

About three and a half moments after that, Matthew quite loudly informed him his mere presence was what was making the batter hit the ceiling.

Ludwig raised his eyebrows.

Alfred laughed.

There was a 'bang' sound.

Gilbert screamed.

Gilbert - awesomely - ran out of the kitchen and hid behind the MotherCouch.

The piano wire had inexplicably disappeared.

**A/N: (Plus translations)**

**Translations first.**

**"Ludwig, der zur Hölle ist das und warum war es nur eine Flasche Bier in den Kühlschrank?" - "Ludwig, who the hell is that, and why was there only one bottle of beer in the fridge?"**

**"Geh weg, Bruder." - "Go away, brother."**

**"Nicht genial. Im Ernst." - "Not awesome. Seriously."**

**"Gehen sie weg." - "Go _away_."**

**And we know homosexuality was pretty much the most dissed thing in America at this time besides the Prohibition and Germany. Nothing like this shall occur in the story. We think. Sorry, fangirls.**

**In the last chapter, I was corrected that it should be "Get it FROM Yao" rather than "Get it BEFORE". Thanks, Amelia. Unfortunately, there's no going back and editing. So just deal with my American.**


	5. Pancakes

Silence reigned in the living room, what with Ludwig and Alfred staring uncomfortably in the general direction of the kitchen and Gilbert hugging his bird to his chest and rocking back and forth in fetal position behind the MotherCouch.  
About ten silent moments later, Matthew emerged from the kitchen (torture chamber?) proudly holding four plates, each containing between two and seventeen syrupy pancakes.  
He handed the one he had somehow managed to stack seventeen on to Al, took the one with two for himself, and handed the plates with four to Ludwig and Gilbert. Gilbert emerged from the safety of his natural habitat to take them (awesomely, of course).  
Tentatively cutting a section out of the top pancake and eating it, Gilbert Beilshmidt could have screamed in euphoria.  
Instead he opted to just sort of stand there trembling with his pupils dilated. Later he would gesticulate and describe it as "some sort of mouthgasm." He fell back on to the benevolent MotherCouch.  
"What are these, and what the hell kind of god are you?" the albino asked, shell-shocked for once.  
Matthew laughed. "What, you've never had pancakes before?"  
"That's what these disks of amazingness are called? Pancakes?"  
"Yes. Pancakes with maple syrup and butter. They're pretty normal, actually, but whatever. Al usually eats more than seventeen, but I ran out of batter."  
Gilbert stared at him from where the MotherCouch was framing his face. "Gilbert."  
"...What?" Matthew was confused.  
"I have decided that you are awesome enough not to shoot, even though you broke into base and took information for three hours...And nearly killed me with a spoon and a bag of flour. So I'm telling you my name."  
"Five."  
"What?"  
"Five hours."  
"Oh. Well...damn, that is kind of awesome. What's your name, then? Inivisi-man?"  
"Matthew."  
"Kinda nondescript for someone who can turn invisible."  
"Hey, I didn't name myself. Also, isn't nondescript in the job description?"  
"Good point."  
Al had finished his pancakes and was watching the interaction between the agents with interest. Ludwig stared with horror in his eyes as a friendship came visibly into existence between his brother and his co-worker.  
This could only end badly.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Hooray Mothercouch! Hopelessly Entangled and I spent hours looking for a photo that suited this. And please forgive me for not putting in the space previously. We came up with some pretty kickass couches.**

**Look forward to actual updates in the near future. We need to get on the next chapter. And work on another fic, this one PruCan, which is on her account. It's called _Enchanted_ - Yes, for the song. Her idea.**

**Sometime in the future: We will discover who the man with the hat and five grand is, and we might put up some character intros, just to get to know these AU versions better. **


	6. IMPORTANT NOTICE

Scrapping this story. Sorry! It was something of a joke, anyways. HopelesslyEntangled and I have plenty of other stuff, though, that I hope that you'll enjoy.


End file.
